


Yule in Bag End

by Gezelligheid



Series: The Samantha Gamgee series. [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fem!Sam, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gezelligheid/pseuds/Gezelligheid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct sequel to "The Sun Faded...". Frodo and Sam spend their first Yuletide as lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yule in Bag End

**Author's Note:**

> Not one of my best efforts, but I'm contented with it.

She thinks her sisters noticed. They must have. 

What other possible reason could she have had for coming home so late that day, barely suppressed happiness radiating from her being, seeping through her pores? They know of her feelings for him, they knew she was going to Bag End that day. They're smart lasses, and they'll come to the obvious conclusion.

 

Whatever the case, they said nothing, for which she is still grateful. 

How strange it is. In some ways she feels different, and in some as though she hasn't really changed.

Something has most certainly changed. Her relationship with the master of Bag End has done a complete turnaround in the space of an hour. She entered the smial his friend, and left it his lover. He'd made a big fuss over whether he'd tired her and undone her recovery, but she assured him there was no damage. If anything she felt better than she had before coming down with that cough.

After the fact she and Frodo always exchange shy little secretive smiles when they see each other, which is nearly every other day. He invites her to lunch or tea whenever she comes to work in his garden, and, barring any tight schedule or appointments, she always accepts. Sometimes he can convince her to sit and rest in the parlor with him. Some times he lets her borrow a book, sometimes he reads one aloud to her. Other times, they just sit in contented silence. He may kiss her, she may kiss him, the sort of warm, cozy, syrupy activities that she would've rolled her eyes at and gagged as a child seeing it in other couples. 

The change happening so fast, it takes a few days for her to get used to it. Used to being able to freely show physical demonstrations of affection with Frodo Baggins, and used to him doing the same. It seams almost surreal. 

But right. Very right. 

* * *

 

They have not made love again, since that fateful day. That was a good two weeks hence. Now Yuletide is upon them, made even more special this year because they missed last year's.

And it is the first one she and Frodo will spend together as sweethearts.

So much has happened of late, she feared at first that she wouldn't be able to obtain a proper gift for him. She has very little time and money to spend this year on presents. But she does her best effort.

Unfortunately, they must spend most of the day apart, with their own families. Not that she minds spending time with her relatives, not in the least, but it can be very difficult when  you're thinking of the intimate evening you'll soon be spending with your loved one, and trying to think up a good way to sneak out.

When evening comes she slips away, package in hand, and walks to his home bundled in her thickest coat and shawl (She's certainly learned her lesson from her bout of pneumonia). Pretty lights and pleasant aromas emanate from every shack and hobbit hole, singing and laughter she passes as she crunches through the much-longed-for white snow she thought oft of during the thirteen months abroad. She follows the well worn path from number three Bagshot Row to Bag End. 

His face lights up when he opens the door. "Come in! I've got roaring apple-wood fire going and dinner set!" 

She steps in and wipes the ice and dirt from her feet. "Dinner? Awfully sweet of you Love, but I don't need to eat." 

He plays gentlehobbit and removes her wraps to put them away. "I insist. This year's special." 

So they sit, Frodo pulling her chair out for her, and dine contentedly. It's a pleasant fare of cooked goose, rabbit meat pies, carrot soup, and lemon cakes for dessert, all washed down with warm ale. They chat, talking of this and that, asking if the other has been keeping warm. They've both been worrying about each other's health these last few weeks, though she must admit that his concern may be more grounded than hers.

"But I'm all to rights now." She reminds him. "It turned out well in the end. Wonderful, even."

"Wonderful?"

"Aye." She smiles, glancing down shyly at her plate. "We admitted our feelings to each other, and we made passionate love on your kitchen floor."

He laughs at that, a deep belly laugh. "Yes, that we did. Oh how had I not thought of that?"

"Never would've happened had I not come at death's door." She murmurs.

He stops laughing suddenly, mood dropping. She berates herself. "Oh I'm sorry! Such a stupid thing to say!"

"No, no it's not." He shakes his head and reaches forward to clasp her hand. "I only wish I had not been so addle-brained as to need such a rude awakening at your expense."

"Well, what's done is done." She assures him. "And _I_ thought it worth the trouble." 

Judging from his expression he thinks otherwise, but says nothing.

Soon they finished eating and go into the parlor to open presents. At her insistence he opens his first. 

It is a journal bound in rich blue leather. Blue like the sky. Blue like his eyes. The pages are crisp and creamy white, waiting for his pen. His face lights up in delight. "This is exquisite! Perfect!" 

"I hoped it might be." She smiled earnestly. "It seemed right." 

He flips through the clean pages. "Just looking at it is inspiring in of itself." He states. "It makes me wish I was good at poems like you, then I would fill it with them."

Modesty makes her flush. "Well now, I don't reckon on using such fine words as you do."  

"They're lovely enough, and you're very gifted in that approach." He insists, then hands her a small brown box that only covers her palm, wrapped with green paper and tied with white ribbon. "Now open your present."

She pulls the ribbon and paper, lifting the side of the lid closest to her.

She catches a glint of gold. 

"Oh no." 

"At least _see_ it first." He says, eager and impatient as a small child. 

Conceding she finishes uncapping the gift. 

A bracelet. A simple, delicate and elegant gold chain.

She can't keep her mouth from falling open in shock.

"Oh no..." She says again. It's all she can think to say. She's never owned anything this fine. Gold is a rare commodity to hobbits. Even the greatest families in the Shire rarely posses more than a small handful of gold trinkets each. Her parents' own wedding rings are made from brass.

"You didn't.... you went and bought me _this?_ "

 "I didn't have to." He answers, looking quite pleased. "Although I would not be at all obverse to doing so. It belonged to Great-Aunt Belladonna."

"Mister Bilbo's Mum?"

"Somehow he'd managed to keep it safe all these years."

She's heard much of Bilbo's Tookish mother, such a remarkable woman, she was, and she'd left a lasting mark and legacy that influenced her son, and even Frodo himself.

This bauble is beyond price.

"I'm so sorry Love, But I can't be accepting this." She shakes her head regretfully. "It's far too valuable, too fine for the likes of me."

He sets his chin defiantly. "I don't believe _anything_ is fine enough for you." He smiles again, reassuringly. "In all honesty, I believe Bilbo would have liked me to give it to you."

"Love, I hardly own any jewelry to my name, let alone a piece like this. Must be worth five years of my wages!"

"Now you do." He states gently, taking it from her hand and fastening it around her wrist. "Even if it were made from lead, it's sentimental value makes it worth it's weight in mithril, and I wouldn't settle for you having anything less."

She stares at it glittering on her wrist. In true hobbit style it's nothing ostentatious, a chain of gold wire twisted artfully and gracefully like stems in a daisy chain, or tendrils forming a vine.

But it will not go unnoticed, of that she's certain. The bracelet of a fine lady on the arm of a lowly drudge.

"People will talk when they see this on me." 

"People always talk, in the Shire." He points out, holding her hand. "They've already been talking about you and I for years, even before the quest, even before Bilbo left." He wets his lips, gaze flickering to the fire. "Many have seen the two of us and our close friendship, and saw something we ourselves were ignorant of."

This does ease her somewhat. Such a thought has never occurred to her.

But still she asks,"What am I to say, when folk ask how I came upon such a thing?" 

Looking back at her he grows very solemn, his gaze gentle and penetrating at the same time. "Tell them the truth. Tell them the Frodo Baggins gave it to you, because he loves you." 

She presses her lips into a thin line. She's a little frightened, has been for some time, and ashamed to be so. Yet she can't help but think of the uproar this will create.

Her immediate family would be happy, but only because they thought highly of Frodo and his uncle. Everyone else will make a huge fuss. His family, and all above her in station will be outraged that he's tied himself to a lowly servant, and people of her social standing will begrudge her for reaching so highly. Some will say he seduced her, others will say she's doing it merely to lift herself up in station. Tongues will click and wag. 

_Did you hear?_

_That lass thinks more of herself than she ought to!_

_I feel sorry for her almost. That Mad Baggins..._

Her jaw clenched at the memory of the cruel things they were already saying about him. Not just his relations but all in the Shire, great or humble. Ever since their return there were whisperings following him whereever he went. 

_Lass's makin' a huge mistake. The feller's mad as a march hare._

"Are you alright Sam?" 

She snaps from her reverie to see him looking concerned, worried. Perhaps he's thinking that this gift was too much, too soon. That it's overwhelmed her. That he's misread her completely, and they're relationship isn't what he thought it was.

He knows what folk are saying about him, but couldn't care less. 

Then suddenly she's ashamed of herself. Should it really matter what the others think? Should she let fear keep her from loving him? No, she shouldn't. She mustn't. 

Yes, folk will talk, but a year or five later they'll lose interest and find some other point of gossip. And even if they don't, she realizes she no longer really cares. 

With a comforting smile she lightly grips his chin."Aye, I'm alright Me Dear." She answers. "And thank you for the gift."

his relief is apparent in the way his shoulders lose tension."You're very welcome." He beams. He leans forward for a light kiss on the lips.

It ends up lasting a bit longer than he may have intended. Their heads angle and she finds her hand cradling his jaw, every small movement of his lips makes her skin feel just a little bit warmer, tighter.

When they separate, there's a change in the air around them, it feels thicker, almost crackling like an electrical storm.  

She see's him. There is a flush along his cheeks, his eyes so dark they seem navy. She's only seen him look that way once before, that afternoon in his kitchen. 

She realizes, Sweet Lady she wants him. 

It can't hurt to ask. "Would you lie with me again?" Comes out in a wobbly voice.

The smile he gives is radiant. "You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you ask." 

* * *

 

They go into his bedroom, arms full of wood so he can start a fire in the hearth. He stirs it until he determines that it is strong enough and rejoins her. 

It's so very different from the last time. Not better or worse, just different. Last time was a raging current of emotions and sensations, everything happening so fast and so intensely, and it was merely a matter of letting herself get caught up in the whirlwind. It had been wild, terrifying, and wonderful, and she wouldn't have traded a single detail for anything in the wide world. 

This time they go far more slowly. Disrobing one article at a time and pausing between for lingering kisses. She feels a little more shy and can tell he is also. His mouth presses into her shoulder as she strokes his skin in the places her fingers have been twitching to touch. Soon he's stripped to the waist, her dress is in a green woolen puddle, and they're both working on the laces of her corset. 

To her surprise, once it's undone and discarded he kneels in front of her, placing his hands on her hips and softly kissing her bare belly. "Gods, you're beautiful." 

For a long time she hasn't cared whether or not others thought her pretty, but still feels a happy trill at the thought her beloved does. "No where near as fair as yourself." She murmurs, stroking his hair. "Weren't no one is." 

He shakes his head but smiles, continuing to dust kisses over her skin. His fingers pull lightly at the waist of her bloomers until they lose their grip and fall down her legs. She obligingly steps out of them. 

He's still kneeling, looking up at her with that dark shine in his eyes. She can't help but feel a little fidgety with his gaze nearly level with her privates. She forgets to be shy when his kisses start to travel over her hips and thighs. 

"Would you sit?" He requests in a low voice  that's both trembly and rough. 

Not trusting her voice she nods and perches at the edge of the bed. He presses his mouth to her knee and travels upward, situating himself between her thighs. 

Wait, is he...? 

Her last warning is a puff of warm air where she never expected to feel any. Then he presses a slow, lingering kiss to her center. 

 _"Ai!"_  She hisses, falling backward into an upside-down U shape. His tongue flattens and gives a slow drag, and she howls.

She has to grip handfuls of sheet and dig her heels into his back to keep from bucking, for fear that doing so would break his nose or cause some similar injury. He's relentless, that tongue like burning wet velvet, sliding, strafing, driving her out of her wits, occasionally punctuated with a faint scrape of lips or teeth. Every lick, flick, suck, and nibble drags, deep guttural groans and high pitched yips from her throat. It gets so he has to keep her still with a gentle hand on her lower belly.

It's too much. She can't take anymore. 

She tries to tell him, but only strangled nonsense comes out, so she gives a gentle push with her foot against his shoulder and wreaths his face with her hands, pulling him up over her. 

He looks at her, both amused and confused. "Was that alright?" He asks in a breathy voice. "Did I do it right?" 

"Aye." She pants. "It was good. Too good." 

That's all the explanation he needs. Giving her a quick kiss Frodo then leans back to finish undressing and she has the pleasure of seeing him wonderfully nude and aroused, the winter moon providing illumination on one side while the fire provides a lovely golden wash over the black of his hair, the white of his skin, and the blue of his eyes. 

He stretches over her, graceful  living lines, chest to chest, hips to hips, eyes dark and wonderfully wild looking.

"Aren't you the most wonderful thing a' breathing?" She beams, stroking his back.

He kisses her, bumping foreheads lightly. "I don't know about that, but what I _am_ is a hobbit that loves you more than anything on this green earth." 

She licks her lips half consciously, feeling bold. " _I'm_ a hobbit who'll burn into a fizzle in a moment if you don't do somethin' about it." She declares, making him laugh. 

"Miss Gamgee, I do believe you've grown quite incorrigible." 

"It's yer own fault." She counters playfully. "Bein' so wonderful at it." 

Kissing her again he laces their fingers together. "I'm only doing my best, for the best is what you deserve." 

He moves between her legs and her breath stutters. 

"Are you ready?" He whispers. 

She makes an affirmative sound. 

There is a hot slide, then ... oh... bliss! 

Her memory doesn't do it justice, the feeling of being filled with him, his lovely voice catching on a breathless whine, his eyes so big and luminous they seem like the only things in the room to her own..

His whole body is thrilling with his pulse, like a bird. She wraps all four limbs around him and kisses him on the chin as he draws out and pushes forward and she rocks to meet him. It doesn't take long to establish the rhythm, alternating between slow and deep and quick and shallow. His upper body angles off of her, supporting his weight on his hands, looking down at her with wonder.

She closes her eyes, savoring the feel of lean muscle and sinew flexing and pistoning into her, into the very heart of herself. Her hands drift, lingering to stroke up and down the hollow of his back, his posterior, and the backs of his thighs.  She can feel him watching her, he leans down again, mouths molding into slippery burning kisses.

She can feel what he's trying to convey with each touch, each kiss, each thrust. _I love you. I need you. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever set eyes on. I'm not whole without you._

Soon they stop kissing, needing to reserve their mouths for breathing, because it's spinning out of control and the approaching release is filling her up like spring water, but hotter, more burning.

 Everything runs together like ink on wet paper. Their ragged breaths and short cries. Frodo is all willowy limbs, slender stroking hands, and flower-soft mouth, driving himself into her again and again. 

She's close. Oh Eru so close. She opens her eyes to look at him, to see the flushed face and beautiful mouth hanging open, to see the flutter of lashes punctuated by flashes of smoking blue and dance of muscle beneath fair skin. 

"Sam I...!" He's coming. " _Sam...!"_

It's a sight she'll not soon forget. His eyes fly open and stare upward, unseeing, before pressing shut, his body shuddering and quaking in waves as he takes in gasps and gulps of air, mouth forming a small O. 

The sight alone is the final nudge she needs to her own end and she sees flashes of bright burning color, warm golden waves rippling up her spine and down her thighs, a small, soft cry making its way from her throat. 

He continues to rock until the aftershocks fade away, before draping himself over her, head resting on her chest as they pant. 

She suddenly realizes with a faint laugh that she's been wearing the bracelet the entire time. 

* * *

 

She wakes up again, later that evening, by his sleepy voice. Her eyes pry open and she turns to see his face next to hers.

He's talking in his sleep, mumbling faint half-words, face twitching. Perchance he's dreaming about the War, or preferably some earlier time, when his biggest worry was avoiding the dreadful Sackville-Bagginses. 

No such luck. Suddenly his brow furrows, and every muscle tenses. his mutterings take on a distressed tone, groans and whimpers. 

 She tightens her hold on him, kissing his brow and murmuring assuring things. He gradually relaxes again. 

For a moment she had almost forgotten. Forgotten That They'd changed Middle Earth. Almost forgotten that he'd been hurt.

She regards him. Perhaps it's merely the moon reflecting off the white snow outside that makes him seem so pale, nothing more. But perhaps it isn't.

Now that he's still, the aroused flush gone from his cheeks and mouth, she's made more aware of how thin and wan he looks. Her eyes drift to his left shoulder, to the scar, the skin surrounding it darkened like a bruise. Since that horrible day a part of him had eroded away, never to grow again. 

Suddenly Sam's filled with a strange fear, some inexplicable sense of dread.

She feels she might lose him.

She hasn't the faintest where suck a notion comes from, but it does it's damage. Only a few short weeks ago, Frodo was faced with the possibility of her death and told her it had been more than he could bear, the thought of life without her.

The thought of a life without him is equally unthinkable to Sam. Especially now, that she'd aware of his love, knows the feel of him in her arms, knows the taste of his kiss.  

 She commands the thoughts to leave. Still a small voice asks,  _What if he were to leave, to die right now? What would you do?_

She hopes she never has to answer that question.


End file.
